She had lost her leg, though, Flynn realized as he finally reached her. A crutch lay next to her, the metal shaft kinked where it had caught on the curb, and the leg of her trousers was pinned neatly closed below the knee—or it had been before it soaked through with blood. A halo of spilled chips surrounded her, which explained the seagulls.
“Hey, Ms. Moffatt,” Flynn said. He crouched down next to her and felt the cobbles dig into his knees through his overalls. “You look a bit worse for wear.”
Nate’s eyes must have come from his mystery father. His mother had dishwater blue eyes and a sharp way of looking that made Flynn very aware of all the dirty things he’d done with her son. Not something he should be dwelling on right then.
“I slipped,” Allison said. She shifted on the stones gingerly, and a grimace pinned her lips together. “People do. I don’t see why it has to be such a production.”
Her hands were shaking, and the two splashes of humiliated red in her cheeks looked like she’d been slapped. Not many people liked being weak, especially ferociously independent people like Allison Moffatt.
“Did you hit your head?” Flynn asked.
Allison reached up to touch the fuzz of short gray curls. Her fingers left grubby prints on the fine strands. “No.” She shifted her weight and shakily tried to get her good leg folded under her. “Just my tailbone.”
It would be best to keep her where she was until an ambulance got there. Chemo had more side effects than the cancer did, and it could leech the elasticity out of bone. If she hit the cobbles hard, she could have fractured her coccyx. That would mean a visit to the hospital, but there was no way Flynn would get Allison to stay put that long, and a second fall would do more damage.
“Okay,” he said. “Tell you what—let’s get you to your feet and out of the weather so I can have a look at that leg.”
The expression on her face suggested she didn’t like that idea, but she liked the thought of staying on the ground even less. She dipped her chin in reluctant agreement and held out her hands.
Flynn didn’t haul her to her feet. He got his arms under her shoulders and helped her up. He knew she’d been sick, but the narrow span of her bird-delicate back under his hand drove it home.
The chip-shop girl—Katherine—darted in and grabbed the undamaged crutch. She passed it to Allison with a bashful “I hope you feel better, Ms.”
“Thank you,” Allison said stiffly. She dug her fingers into Flynn’s arm in a mute but clear plea to get out from under everyone’s attention. “I’mfine, really. No one needs to worry about me.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Flynn said. “Just give her space.”
The small crowd muttered and fussed with demands for updates and promises to come and check on Allison later. In the end, though, they were happy to give up the responsibility of dealing with the situation. That left them free to start judging.
“… don’t know what Nathan was thinking,” Dani tutted to one of her customers as she shooed them back inside. “She’s obviously not capable of taking care of….”
“… not that she’d ever listen to anyone else,” a man snorted. “Allison Moffatt’s always done just what she wanted….”
“… goodness Mr. Delaney was here.” That was Katherine, as she kicked the spilled chips into the gutter. “Her son’s so lucky.”
It was the first time anyone had ever said that about Flynn—on or off the island.
“DOES IThurt?” Kenny asked. He hovered at the door to the office, his head craned to watch as Flynn cleaned off Allison’s stump. “It looks sore.”
The muscles in Allison’s leg twitched under Flynn’s fingers, and a dribble of fresh blood oozed out from under the gauze.
“Don’t you have work to do, Kenny?” Flynn asked.
“Not really.”
Flynn glanced back over his shoulder. “Find some.”
Embarrassed color slapped Kenny’s face, and he muttered “Sorry, Miss. Sorry, Boss,” and ducked back into the garage. Without him propping the door open, it swung shut behind him.
“He didn’t mean any harm,” Allison said.
“Didn’t mean he wasn’t doing any.”
Flynn carefully peeled the gauze off her skin. Scar tissue zippered across the stump just under Allison’s knee. It was swollen and bloody where it had split against the ground, but it looked worse than it was.
“You’re still going to have to see the doctor,” Flynn told her. “Any injury to the amputation site can be—”
“I know.” Allison paused for a second and tried again in a more moderate tone. “I do know. I’m usually very careful. The last thing I want is to end up back in the hospital. I just… I wanted everyone to stop looking at me.”
